A Series of Tudor Drabbles
by GreenField
Summary: Just a few drabbles to do with the Tudors. Loads of different pairings involved, some of my own creation! Sorry, I hate doing summaries. Please Read! xx
1. AN

This is just one big long authors note to let you know what to expect. This is a series of short drabbles based on The Tudors. Some of them may not be quite accurate, historically or to the show. But that's what fanfiction is all about.

This idea came to me after reading TrivialQueen's two fanfictions Oddments and Oddments reprise. I love them, and would recommend them to anyone.

I will be doing some drabbles that are just about one person, but here are some of the pairings I will do. If you have any suggestions please write about them in a review.

Henry/Katherine

William/Thomas

Katherine/Thomas More

Katherine/Eustace Chapuys

Henry/Anne Boleyn

Thomas Wyatt/Anne Boleyn

Mark Smeaton/Anne Boleyn

Mark Smeaton/Mary Boleyn

George Boleyn/Jane Boleyn

George Boleyn/mistress

Thomas Wyatt/Elizabeth

Charles Brandon/Margaret Tudor

Charles Brandon/Katherine Brandon

Charles Brandon/Anne Boleyn

Charles Brandon/Anne of Cleves

Henry/Anne of Cleves

Henry/Mary Boleyn

Henry/Bessie Blount

Francis Bryan/Katherine Howard

Henry/Katherine Howard

There are probably loads more! Tell me if you can think of some.

Thank you xxx


	2. Greed

**A/N: I know I shouldn't be writing this too, but this will not be my top priority – I'll just do them in between chapters or something. READ THE FIRST CHAPTER AUTHOR'S NOTE!!! It could be useful!!xx**

It was a sort of greed, Henry thought absently, his long fingertips stroking the stem of his wine glass. He was having a rare thoughtful moment, slipping into the melancholy that had often gripped his father. It was Catherine's fault. Catherine and that way she had of making him feel horribly guilty without saying a word. It was his right to take a mistress, of course it was.

_**A**__ mistress_, the voice in his head repeated, _not several_.

He had had nearly every lady in his wife's household by now. Bessie Blount had given him a child, a son. He had had Mary Boleyn, daughter of Thomas Boleyn, one of his Ambassadors, the young, pretty whore that she was. He had only had her because she was Francis' whore. That was greed, he knew that much – greed and vanity. He would have the new ladies too, when they arrived. Would God forgive him for that, for this insufferable need that his wife just couldn't fulfil anymore?

And now he wanted her. Anne Boleyn. He wanted her above anything else in the world. He wanted to touch her, taste her...keep her.

Was that greed too?

Would God punish him for that?

**A/N 2: Very short, I know, but I did warn you. They're supposed to be short. Anyway, as you might have guessed, the first seven chapters will be the seven deadly sins. I have them all planned out. Please review.**


	3. Envy

**A/N: Thank you so much for all the reads, I was so pleasantly surprised!!! But I have to admit that I do think some of you need to join the review revolution and review everything you read, because seriously, it's quite depressing when you have nearly 200 reads in four days but only two reviews. Though thank you so so much to Pandora of Ithilen for her review and of course my best friend AlexieBelle for her review!**

**Pairing(s): Henry/Anne Boleyn, Thomas Wyatt/Anne Boleyn**

"Mark" Henry stepped forward, draining a goblet of wine, and motioned to Mark Smeaton, "Play a Volte"

Thomas Wyatt drew in a sharp breath and glared at the King. How dare he act this way – treating his Queen so horribly for days now, and expecting it to all come right in just one dance?

It would come right, though, Thomas knew that. Anne would forgive Henry anything to keep her place as Queen. Maybe she even loved him. Or maybe all of this was to keep her daughter in the line of succession. Thomas didn't know. He used to know, he used to be able to read Anne like a book, but now all her emotions were hidden behind the elegant, seductive smile that she had once reserved only for him, that every man at court now worshipped and adored.

He watched Anne turn, twirl, spin, leap, glide, all perfectly fitting to every twist that Mark's music took. Thomas wanted to rush over to the musician and break the violin over his head, just to punish him for allowing this to happen. He could see it happening to the King all over again, him falling deeply under her alluring spell. He turned his face away from them, teeth ground tightly together.

"All this time, and you love her still?" George Boleyn appeared beside him, watching his sister thoughtfully.

"Of course not" Thomas lied. George Boleyn smiled slightly, hearing the bitterness and jealousy in his friend's voice.

"She has a way of doing that to people, does my sister" he said, musing, "But don't forget, Thomas – envy is an ugly thing, and it will not lead to pretty things"


	4. Gluttony

**A/N: Thank you for the reviews so far, I hope you continue to enjoy these!**

_It's not gluttony or greed_, Henry told himself daily as he watched his waistline broadening, _it's a consolation. It's a comfort. That's all._

He had been slim, muscular and well-proportioned when he married Catherine. He was the handsomest prince in Christendom. He was even handsome when he married Anne, even after the long battle he had had to get her.

But since Anne, it had all gone wrong. He regretted it, killing her. He knew that he would never see those dark, dancing eyes again, never hear her shrill, angry demands ringing in his ears.

He had not been so terrible when he married Jane. But when she died and yet more grief was heaped upon him, what could he do but eat more and more?

By the time that Flanders Mare had arrived, he had been growing uglier, fatter, by the day. And now Kitty was gone too. Little Kitty, his rose without a thorn, had turned out to have just as many thorns as her cousin before her.

So he ate to console himself, to give him the strength he needed to get through the days.

He was no longer the handsomest prince in Christendom.

He was an old man.

**A/N: Hope you liked it, I'm not really sure that it worked. Please review! **


	5. Wrath

Katherine knelt humbly on her knees before the elevation of the host, her eyes downcast, her fingers twisted tightly into the beads of her rosary. She had never sinned before, and her repentance was strong.

But how could she help herself? Never before had she been so lured into rage. Never before had one of her husband's mistresses dared to look her in the eyes and smile her harlot's smile.

But this girl, this dark haired beauty, this Anne Boleyn, was different to all the others. Katherine was only just beginning to understand that. She was only just beginning to realise that this vain young woman was a threat to her.

The hatred that rose up inside her at the thought of those cunning dark eyes, the smooth pale skin, the lithe body of a young woman, was shocking to her. She was a servant to God, never had she felt such a strong urge to hurt another living being. Yet she wanted that ambitious Boleyn girl gotten rid of, she wanted to hurt her, to torture her, to break her heart as she was breaking Katherine's with her luring of dear Henry. Poor Henry. Vulnerable Henry.

Katherine crossed herself, and, walking hurriedly from the chapel, banished the ugly and outraged thoughts of Anne Boleyn from her mind.


	6. Sloth

Oh, they could call him a butcher's son if they liked. They could call him an upstart. They could call him a butcher's dog if they really wanted to. But he could never be called lazy.

Could he?

No.

Wolsey was never lazy. He did not rest. He counted his gold and he built his marvellous palaces and made secret alliances almost every hour, on the hour. He took his mistress, he made his money, he drew up plans for naive young Henry to sign that met with his best interests. And Henry's, of course.

Yet in some ways he was lazy.

The hours he spent with Joan and counting crowns and favours could have gone to much better use, in Henry's eyes – like getting that damned divorce.

The divorce that, if it succeeded, would tear England apart.

No, he was never a sloth.

He just worked to his advantage – he worked slowly.

And some day, he might have to pay the price for that.


	7. Pride

I am the daughter of the King of England, the good and most...virtuous Henry the Eighth. I am the daughter of Katherine of Aragon, Princess of Spain and Queen of England. I am England's Princess, the heir to the throne! I will not give up my rights, my heritage, my title.

I am much to proud for that.

Yes, Pride is a sin. But I keep my title for the good of my country, for the good of the people. They will not want the son of the harlot Anne Boleyn on the throne, whether he is a male or not. I am sure of it. They love me, they adore my Mother. I will do this for them, and for her.

My Mother. I never see her anymore, she who is my greatest friend and only protector.

I hear she is dying.

That makes me all the more resolute.

I will fulfil what will be her dying wish – I will fight for my throne, for my position. One day I will be Mary Tudor, Queen of England, the Queen with the Tudor wealth and the Spanish cunning. I will be the greatest Queen that England has ever seen, the first female ruler!

I am Mary Tudor, and I will stay strong.


	8. Lust

He was the King's favourite lately – surely that gave him licence for a little....mingling?

Francis Bryan loved women. That was no secret at court. He didn't like the sweet, virginal ones that the King recently preferred either. He much preferred the knowledgeable ones. The wonderfully unsatisfied married ones, or the whorish newcomers to court.

Ursula Missledon. Oh, she was a wonderful mistress. So haughty at first, but easy to buy off with jewels at least. But she wasn't his anymore.

Still, the persistent lust was never forgotten. So he had to find someone new.

Who better than Anne Stanhope, the wife of that vile cold fish Edward Seymour? So pretty, so generous with her favours – to good for the ambitious Edward. Too good for anyone, really. The perfect mistress.

Ah, Lust. It really was the most deliciously sinful of all sins.


	9. Yesterday

It feels like just yesterday that everything was perfect.

I have so many yesterdays, so many perfect yesterdays, but they just make today worse.

When I was a child I lived with my Mother. My Mother and all of my siblings. I rarely saw my own Father – he was one of those young sons, so unimportant that he had to make his own way in the world. But I had my Mother and I loved her. Those days were happy; when I had my Mother and she wanted me.

Then Mother died. Hm. I suppose I shall be with her again soon. I hadn't thought about that.

When Mother died I went to live with the Dowager Duchess. We were always at one place or another, some days Lambeth, some days Horsham. I had friend there, they coached me, taught me how to tease and taunt a man. They moulded me into the whore that they wanted me to be. The sad thing is I've only just figured that out.

Henry Manox came along, to coach me in my music. They were good days. I liked him; I was besotted with him – until he tried to put his hands up my gown.

Then there was Francis. Francis Dereham. I loved him once, I loved him so much, but when I think of how he came to court just to torment me, just because I was Queen, I loathe him. A small part of me is glad that he is dead, though I know it is wrong.

Then Francis Bryan came to Lambeth. He introduced me to important people, to the Duke of Suffolk, to the Earl of Hertford. He brought me to court. I wish he had stayed at court. He was fond of me, I think – but would he be fond of me now? Or would he do what everyone else has done – abandon me?

And then I was Queen. Queen of all England. So very grand and special. All the dresses, the jewels, the pets...oh, it was the life for me. Oh, I had to give myself to Henry and pray for a pregnancy to get what I wanted, but I was happy. Happier still when Thomas arrived. Oh, I love him. I loved him then and I love him now.

Yesterday he told them everything.

Yesterday he, the love of my life, my soulmate, betrayed me to the same vultures that killed my cousin Anne.

I don't know why he did it. I never will.

But yesterday decided my fate for me.

I am going to die as Kathryn Howard, Queen of England.


	10. Today

**A/N: I decided to write this because we never actually found out what happened to Francis Bryan. It got to season 4 and he just disappeared, and it made me feel really sorry for Anne Seymour, who is infact one of my favourite characters. So this is my quick version of what could have happened.**

"Who will I find to amuse me now?" Anne Seymour complained, eyebrows arched, a smirk playing on her lips.

"The King might let me come back" Francis responded doubtfully, he couldn't even look at her with his good eye.

Anne shrugged, "Maybe he will, maybe he won't. Either way, I won't be able to say that I'm fucking the Pope anymore, will I?"

"You'll find someone else. Every man at court hates your husband, they'd have you just to get to him"

"Yes, and you'll be off with a bunch of pretty French whores. I don't think you'll miss me"

Their relationship had been so casual, based purely on sex and their joint hatred of her husband Edward. Neither of them had admitted to any true feelings for each other, not even aware that they harboured them. Did they love each other? In a way. Anne had the feeling that she would take her time finding someone else when Francis was gone. No-one would be as good as him anyway. And Francis had a feeling that he'd only go with the brunette whores with a hint of red in their hair from now on.

"Then off to Calais I go" said Francis, after a thoughtful silence, "Once more, for old time's sake?"

"You had your once more last night" Anne retorted, but she was smiling, "Goodbye"

They kissed, one last kiss, full of passion and fire, like all the others.

As she watched him go, she felt strangely empty. Maybe she should call after him and tell him she loved him.

No. He'd laugh. And anyway, he couldn't come back. Today was their last day. They had resigned themselves to that. Today was their last day. So she wouldn't tell him. He'd laugh, and she didn't want to ruin today.

Francis looked back at her one last time. Should he tell her he loved her?

No. She'd laughed.

And anyway, today was their last day.


	11. Tonight

**A/N: I wrote this because actually George Boleyn wasn't gay, and I think he would have had piles of mistresses at court. The girl here is a complete OC, but she might sort of be someone from my other fanfictions. Oh, I don't know. Anyway, here it is. And I'm also going with how he was portrayed in the Tudors, although he was pretty damn horrible in that, but HE WASN'T LIKE THIS IN REAL LIFE!! This is just for consistency.**

"So if things are going so bad at court, what are you doing here?"

"You're my whore. I come to you when things are going badly" George shrugged. He wasn't feeling as calm as he seemed. Anne was falling, and so was he. That's why he needed Rose. She'd been his whore at the brothel in Greenwich for...well, for as long as he could remember. She'd been younger than him when he first saw her at the brothel, and he'd given his virginity to her, though she'd already been plucked by some vile old man, she told him.

That wasn't to say that he'd kept away from all other women. Oh no. He'd had a string of lovers at court. But Rose was the one who knew what he wanted, who could read his moods. She adored him in her underprivileged way, like a dog following a master.

"I'm glad to hear it" Rose smirked, "But I'm not just yours, you know. This is my job"

"Yes, well, I did try to get you a place at court, didn't I?" George retorted, removing his clothes. Rose watched him appraisingly, still smirking.

"You mean you can't try anymore?"

"No. He's going to divorce Anne. We can all see it coming. I'm not in favour anymore. Sorry to disappoint you" he hesitated, drawing her closer, "Is that the only reason you became my whore?"

"No. I became your whore because this is my job and you paid me. And I'm your whore now because I want to be" she slipped out of chemise and smiled at him, "Would I be here tonight if I didn't want to be?"

Tonight. It could be their last night if he was exiled with Anne. Maybe he should savour it.


	12. Tomorrow

Tomorrow I will be dead.

After all the postponing, all the delays – did Henry organise them to torture me? – finally it will all be over.

You know, I didn't do it. I didn't do any of the things Cromwell and that evil bitch Jane Parker said I did. I loved George, but he's my brother. I loved Francis and Mark and Henry Norris too. I didn't know William Brereton. That pretty much proves I didn't lie with him.

I thought for a while that I would just get a divorce. Then I could disappear like Catherine did. Or maybe he'd exile me, because he does still love me, I know he does. He'd send me to France, because he knows I like France. He'd let me keep Elizabeth. Maybe George could come too. And Mark. All of us.

I think he still loves me. He's letting me have the sword instead of that axe that killed my brother and friends. That must mean something. Surely.

It doesn't matter now. That was all just daydreams and false hopes. But some people are on my side. They might be sorry to see me die. Cranmer will, for sure. And my Elizabeth, dear sweet precious Elizabeth. Maybe Cromwell too, even though he engineered this. Maybe even my Father and Uncle. Thomas Wyatt – he'll miss me. He loved me.

I wish I had married him instead. Been a poet's wife. Not rich but happy.

It's too late now.

For tomorrow I die.


	13. Constant

**A/N: Pairing = Anne of Cleves/Thomas Cromwell**

"Can I trust you?"

It isn't the question itself – he can deal with doubt. It's the way she says it, with fear in her velvety brown eyes, with teeth grazing her lips. He stares at her, tucked underneath his arm in bed, carefully not looking at him.

"Of course you can" he says firmly. Anne looks up at him.

"I am sorry for asking" she says in that stilted way she has. He sees the frustration in her eyes – she hates the way her accent, thick and undeniable, changes the way she speaks. She hates that she cannot sound like the cultured, learned women of the court. But he loves her for her differences.

"I understand why you ask" he says, "You know of my unfortunate history with women"

Anne laughs loudly, making him laugh too. This is the first time he has felt at peace since what he did to the other Anne. He regrets that every day of his life, but Anne makes him feel at peace with himself, stops the guilt that rises up in him like bile.

"If I can trust you, if...if you..."she hesitates. Either she doesn't know the words, or she cannot bring herself to say them.

"What is it?" he asks, anxious.

"If you are so in love with me, then will you help me?"

"Help you with what, exactly?"

"The King wants to get rid of me"

He wants to deny it, because he doesn't understand how the King cannot want her, but he nods reluctantly.

"Yes, he does"

"Then you must get him a divorce from me"

"Do you not like being Queen, Anna?"

She smiles at him, curls her arms around his torso. Her face falls as she thinks about the question, and he touches her face gently with the palm of his hand.

"I do not want to die instead" she whispers, "This constant fear...I do not want to die"


	14. Princess

A/N: Pairing= Bessie Blount/Henry implied

Sorry it's been a while, but I'm going to write a few now, so... please read and review!

He used to say that I was the only one for him, his Princess, his only love.

Still, that was so long ago now. So long.

We were both young and beautiful. He was handsome, not too far into his reign, lively, athletic, and compassionate – all the things that he lacks now. The things that he lacks now that our son is dead.

He was so special, our son. The bastard son of King Henry, his only son. For now.

But he was always so weak. Handsome, yes, but so fragile. Those dukedoms, being a Fitzroy, was just too much for him, my poor boy.

If Henry and I were still young and I was still his mistress this tragedy would not matter to us. We would be fertile and healthy enough to have another child, another son. If my hair were still golden and my face was still smooth and beautiful, and if Henry were still strong and slim and able then maybe things would still be alright.

Still, he has heard now of my darling little Henry's death. Soon he will send for me, I am sure of it, and we will grieve together. Maybe he is sick of that plain Jane already. Maybe we will be as we once were, although I am older now and he is the tyrant King who murdered his wife just a few months ago.

He said I was his Princess. He will not desert me now, not when I need him so.


	15. Girl

A/N: Pairing= None, Anne's thoughts on Elizabeth's birth.

Please read and review!

As I hold my baby in my arms, I ponder.

Not my son, my daughter.

I so thought that she was a boy. I carried her so high, and everyone said that was a sure sign. I know now, I think, that they were probably paid to say exactly that. And I ate asparagus, so much of it, a plateful at every meal, and a heaped plateful at that. The midwives said that that was sure to make me a boy, they promised me.

Yet, I find that I am not disappointed. This child is mine, my daughter, and she is beautiful and healthy. We can have other children, if it matters so much to Henry, which I know that it does. But he cannot be disappointed with this child. She is perfection. I shall call her...I do not know. I should ask Henry first.

No. I shall call her Elizabeth. He shall not mind, I am sure. She is so lovely, she deserves a lovely name.

All the pain I went through, those hours of agony, to give birth to a worthless girl. That is what they will all think when they hear, I am sure.

But she is not worthless. She is a girl, yes, but she is going to be a great Queen.

I just need to give Henry a son first.


	16. Fool

A/N: Pairing = None, George Boleyn.

Please read and review!

They say now that I am a fool for being with my own sister.

I never lay with her, although they say now that I did.

We were just friends. She is and always has been both my sister and my best friend. I have helped to care for her, and kept her calm, and made her laugh and smile.

We are going to die for that?

For something so simple and innocent.

I don't understand anything anymore. I am not a fool, I never have been. I have been bought up to be calculating and clever and greedy. I am no fool.

I often visited Anne in her rooms, when she was Queen.

"Thank goodness you are here!"she would exclaim, and she would take my hand and we would sit together and just talk. When the time came for me to leave, her face would crumple.

"Must you go?" she would say, and I would smile and nod regretfully. In the last year I have been her only friend.

"I will see you later" I would promise, and I would hold her for a few moments, and kiss her forehead, and leave.

Now I will never see her again. Never hear her ringing laugh and her joyous cry of, "Oh, you dear fool!" when I made her laugh.

I just hope that my death is quick, and that axe severs my head from my body with only one blow, else I shall really feel like a fool.


	17. Havisham

**A/N: As it's been so long, I thought I'd do a few little mini shots inspired by some of the poems I've been learning at school at the moment. Please review! Catherine of Aragon.**

_Beloved sweetheart bastard. Not a day since then_

_I haven't wished him dead. Prayed for it_

_So hard I've dark green pebbles for eyes_

_Ropes on the back of my hands I could strangle with_

_'Havisham' by Carol Ann Duffy_

Oh, how my own thoughts shame me. How I long to feel something, something other than the hatred that burns in my heart, a flame nursed between the pumping bloody veins. I do not want to hate him, my dear sweet Henry, the boy (and later the man) who bought me so much joy, who gave me my darling daughter Mary. But now he has sent me away. I rot in this castle, in the icy cold wind that is so partial to the Welsh Marches, while his whore sits in my throne, dances in my halls, parades her motley collection of sluts throughout my chambers.

God forgive me, what have I become? I am weak now, too weak to do anything but pray and remember. It is the endless pattern of my day, to pray God that my life will somehow turn around, to bruise and batter my knees kneeling on the hard stone ground. I pray that I will see my daughter, that she is healthy and well and brave. I pray that Henry and his witch will have children, the princes that Henry desires, only to have them die in childbed just like my own sons, my other daughters.

I pray that He will set me free. Allow me to soar away from this prison poisoned by my thoughts, my hatred, my bitterness, my jealousy. I have grown old here in this Hell on Earth, old enough to die. Old enough to leave this world, to leave the weight of it all to my pearl Mary instead.

But God knows I do not mean to hate, to loathe, to weep. Oh, God knows that I miss him.

My Henry. My love.


End file.
